


Break, Fill, Overflow

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's not about what you can see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break, Fill, Overflow

Sam's still not quite used to the fact that he can walk into his room and find Lucifer sprawled out on his bed. Considering how long he's been with him now, it should probably have sunk in months ago. Considering what Sam's _done_ with him, it should have at least stopped giving him a moment of strange dislocation whenever it occurs to him exactly who and what Lucifer is.

So, when Sam gets back from brushing his teeth and finds the devil leant back against the pillows, bare feet crossed at the ankle. He stops for just a second, floorboards creaking under his feet. Sam's suspects, surprise or not, that he's secretly started thinking of that as Lucifer's side of the bed. Or at least where he can most often be found frowning his way through a book, or a paper. Or, now he's finally worked out how to use it, Sam's laptop. The devil is far too fond of the internet. Tonight he's doing the middle ages equivalent of Googling himself, because he has one of Bobby's books flipped open to a page about him.

The lamp is tilted sideways, throwing strange shadows across the wall and giving Lucifer something of a gold halo where his hair catches the light. It makes him look oddly unreal, or maybe that's just Sam's imagination. Maybe that’s just him knowing what Lucifer really is. How vast and terrible and alien. Knowing that for some reason, he's not even entirely sure why, he's agreed to be here. Instead of out there tearing the world down.

Sam doesn't go for the closet like he was intending. Instead, he dumps his bag on the floor and settles himself on the bed beside him.

Lucifer's bare feet are kind of fascinating. Sam's gotten so used to seeing the angels either dressed or not. This is something strange and half-way that feels somehow more intriguing. It shouldn't mean anything but in the weirdness of his own head it tries to anyway. Sam's tempted to drag his fingers up the arch to see if the devil's ticklish. He seriously doubts it but it's a whim he can't quite shake. Because the skin looks naked and oddly vulnerable. He's touching before he even realises it. One slow draw of fingertips. But there's no reaction - unless you counted the faint tilt at the edge of Lucifer's mouth, like he's been eavesdropping on Sam's curiosity.

Sam lets his hand relax there. Lets the warmth of Lucifer's skin seep into his fingers. He thinks about what they are, what they were. What he's fairly sure they were supposed to be in the end, and he can't help wondering _why._

"You were supposed to be the prettiest angel right?" It's the end of a thought, half-formed and tentative.

Lucifer gives him a look over the top of the book. His face is still relaxed. It hasn't taken on that strange flat stillness it gets sometimes, when Sam treads somewhere he doesn’t want to go.

"'Pretty' is a relative term when you're composed of light and matter that contravenes the laws of physics," Lucifer says. There's an edge of curious amusement there that does a lot to settle the tightness in Sam's chest.

"But you were supposed to be the brightest?" Sam pushes. He can feel the corner of his own mouth turning up. "You were never the gawky, awkward angel who tripped over his wings and couldn’t talk to girls."

Lucifer's expression does that conflicted thing it does when he thinks Sam's being confusing on purpose.

"Because I can imagine Cas doing that, but not you," Sam adds.

"Castiel is far older and more capable than your brother gives him credit for," Lucifer says slowly. Which is completely true. But not currently the point.

"No - I mean yeah, obviously, but that's the only thing that seems to be a constant in all the books. That you were the most beautiful angel."

"I was," Lucifer says simply.

Sam's strangely unnerved by how easily that slips out in past tense. How much it sounds like history, a healed over wound.

He wants to ask him if he misses it. If he knew what would happen. If he regrets it.

Sam doesn’t think they're ever going to be questions he'll be able to ask. There are just some places he doesn’t want to go. But there are other questions. There are always going to be questions between them. So many of them and Sam's floundering for the ones he can ask and the ones he can't - or won't. Sometimes he feels like he's stuck between the two.

Lucifer looks up again and whatever he sees in Sam's face makes him put the book down.

"If you want to know something. I've told you before, Sam. All you have to do is ask."

It's the one question that comes out before he can think about it properly.

"You're so much _more_ than me, and I was just wondering if it's enough for you. If _this_ is enough for you." Sam frowns, shakes his head. Because he doesn't even know if that came out right. If it came out sounding anything other than some sort of weakly desperate plea for reassurance.

It's not the sort of thing you can take back or bluff your way around though.

Before he can decide if he wants to try, the bed shifts and there's an angel tugging his head up.

"I'm not -"

Lucifer kisses him. Breaks his sentence in the middle and draws him all the way in. Until Sam's hands are curved round Lucifer's hips, thumbs digging in, and Lucifer's hands are threading through his hair and tilting his head so he can kiss him hard enough to make his mouth numb.

"Fuck," Sam manages between kisses, and then nothing else. Lucifer's fingers are unsnapping and unzipping his jeans, then pushing them and his shorts over his hips. There's not even a break in the kiss before he's shoving them down Sam's legs in barely controlled movements. Until Sam's kicking them free and easing his arms back over his head in wordless permission for Lucifer to take his shirt the same way. Quick-hot arousal pounding through his veins at how intent Lucifer's touch always is. How possessive, like Sam is something he can't stop touching. Lucifer slides the material up and over Sam's head, throws it away and then pushes him into the mattress with his own weight, holds him there looking a picture of arrogance and fury and Sam make a noise in his throat that he probably shouldn’t. Because not so long ago that expression would have terrified him - not this, God, not this.

Lucifer pins him there with hands that are far too strong. Sam's breathing hard and it's entirely lust and adrenaline. But Lucifer looks some strange shade of serious above him that Sam's never seen before. Something deep and curious that he can't read. There's so much there he can't read. Before Sam can open his mouth to speak the devil lifts a hand and lays it over his eyes, leaving the world completely dark.

"Lucifer?" Sam questions, and there's something wrong about that name red-tinged with lust but he can't seem to stop saying it now he has permission.

"Hush." Lucifer's voice is deep and faraway. Like he's concentrating.

The world is suddenly bright behind Lucifer's hand, the edges of his fingers outlined in the warm red of blood and the room crackles like it's been filled up with fire. Sam inhales, mouth full of warm air and the metal-sharp crackle of ozone.

And then the fire touches him.

It's a shiver of electricity and warmth over his skin. He draws a second, quick, wet breath and then lets it all go in a messy, stunned noise when that sensation presses and drags deep. All his skin tightens, hair prickling, blood slamming in his veins.

There's a low rush of movement, a pull of hot and cold air. Followed by a heavy, falling sound, like wind tearing through trees, or feathers.

And suddenly Sam knows what it is, and he can't breathe.

It touches him again, a rush of sensation all at once across his bare skin. It doesn’t matter where it falls it's all too much and too sharp. Prickles of bliss so good that he can't know for sure where he starts and it begins. He's shaking already, twitching and twisting and gasping. Breath after shaking breath of light and heat and he can feel _everything._ He's babbling nonsense, fingers twisting in sheets he can't even feel. Lucifer is all weight and intensity and he's leaking shades of alien emotion that Sam can't understand. But he wants to, wants to cling to, desperately. He can't even tell if he's come because it's all too good. He feels like he's drowning in it, having it poured across his skin in wave after wave, each heavier than the last. Every touch strays closer to something that threatens to fall from bliss into actual pain. To feeling like Lucifer could burn him all the way through. That he could burn everything.

And then it's gone. Just gone, cut away like someone shut a door and the room is colder and darker. Filled with the hard-hot rasp of his own breathing and the slow steady shift of Lucifer's knees on the mattress and Sam’s groping desperately at the warmth of his thigh through denim, with shaking fingers.

Lucifer's hand slides away and Sam can't feel the wet, tickling trails where tears have run down his temples and into his hair. Christ, he's never felt anything like that in his life and the absence of it almost hurts.

He leaves his eyes shut, drawing in air and making low torn-apart noises. He tries and fails to stop the messy little twitches of his body that seems to think it's still dying.

He swallows and opens his eyes.

He's breathless and sticky and Lucifer is watching him, expression strangely uncertain. There's something that feels almost fragile there. Something naked that Sam isn't supposed to see.

"You are enough," Lucifer says firmly.

Sam hauls him down by the neck of his t-shirt, fists weak, shaky hands in the material and does his damnedest to give himself vicious and obvious stubble rash for the whole of tomorrow.

Lucifer tangles both hands in his hair and holds onto him, just a fraction too tightly.

"I love you," Sam growls against his mouth.

Like the whole world doesn't know it already.


End file.
